Freaky Freeway
by Littlestar.2011
Summary: The Underground Railroad for criminals: safe haven, neutral ground. All courtesy of Freaky and her fellow low-lifers. Eventual JokerOC.
1. This Is Freaky

**Second Dark Knight story. Hope you like it. Still working on my other story, so don't sweat it if you're already reading it. If you're not, then that's cool.**

**This story is told in varying first person, meaning that it's told in first person, just not always the same person. **

**Disclaimer (for those of you who like to see these things): I don't own The Dark Knight or any of it's characters. I only own my characters, Freaky, Canadian Bakin' and Jed the Cabbie. **

/|\

You'd be surprised at how easy it is to escape police custody. All you need is a distraction -- like a small bomb or a fake police radio broadcast -- and all of a sudden you are the polices' smallest problem, and therefore are no longer worthy of their attention. Which is just fine with me. The only problem after that is getting the handcuffs off, and usually you can get the local psycho with a lock cutter to do that. Then you just take care of the psycho before he decides to beat you over the head with his lock cutter and start chopping off your fingers and toes. After that you just need a place to squat until the heat dies down a little. That's all fine with me, just as long as I can keep your lock cutter, mister crazy. Wanna know how I got these scars? Ha ha ha.

With the psycho taken care of, I started looking for a place to stay for a while. Just for a while. I never stayed in one place for too long. They find me that way. Anyway, by now it was late -- you'd be surprised at how long it takes to find a lock cutter -- and most people would have already watched the news and found out about me escaping the coppers (again). They'd be in bed now with one hand under their pillows and the other on a telephone, waiting to dial 911 if I _dared _enter their humble abodes. So, instead of looking for some place nice -- like in one of those gated communities with the guard dogs and the cameras and armed guards -- I started my search in a less... reputable area. I felt at home there of course, considering it was nearly all I knew. I had, over the past few weeks (pre-arrest), taken refuge at a few nicer places -- like in one of those gated communities with the guard dogs and the cameras and the armed guards -- and felt nice and luxurious there. But it wasn't the same without the constant scream of cats and barks of dogs and screaming neighbors and the nagging sense that someone had been following you home for the past three weeks and was just waiting to catch you off guard so they could do bad things to you. It was nice to be _home_.

Not much had changed since my last visit: the same drunk guy with the paper bag hat snoozed in the same alley while the same shaky, rabid looking dog huddled at the far end and eyed me hungrily as I walked by. The same group of cats peeked out of the same dumpster and hissed at the hobo and the dog. Steam seeped out of a grate in the middle of the street and the whole neighborhood smelled like a sewer leak. Graffiti smeared the walls, windows were boarded up or covered with bars, cars were set up on cinderblocks because someone had stolen all the tires. Home sweet home.

I ducked into an alley when some police cars came screaming down the street. Some paper flew up and swirled when the car's backwind caught it. I hopped a fence and cut the hems of my pants on the rusty wire tips. I looked up at the buildings on either side of me and smiled. One of the windows on the fifth floor of an old, rundown apartment building was open and had a fire escape ladder leading right up to it. Unfortunately, a light was on which meant that someone was home, but they were probably awake so I could scare the hell out of them and send them packing. I found the ladder that led up to the metal staircase and spent a few seconds trying to pull it down so I could climb up. I found a crowbar and hooked it to the ladder's last rung and pulled hard. The ladder came down, but it hit me square in the head.

"God _fucking _dammit!"

I cussed at the ladder and held my head until I could tell I wasn't bleeding, then I started up the ladder. On the second floor, I looked through the window and saw someone sleeping a little drunkenly at their kitchen table, a pink slip in hand. I made a noise at them and rolled my eyes. One the third floor, I got a first hand look at what old-people sex looked like. I left that window pretty quickly- the animal noises were freaking me out. On the fourth floor, another, much younger couple, was having as much fun as the old folks on the third floor. Then I realized it was a couple of guys going at it and I booked it up to the fifth floor, trying not to blow chunks over the railing. It's not that I'm a homophobe or anything, I just don't want to see any of that shit. Ugh.

After a few head-clearing, retina-cleansing breaths, I looked into the window. The setup on the inside looked the same as all the other floors I had seen: the window led to a bedroom, which led to a little kitchenette thing. I looked to the left and saw a bathroom door and a sliver of another room which might have been another bedroom. I pulled the window open the rest of the way and slid inside, trying to be quiet, and effectively failing miserably. Oh well, the poor sap in the kitchen would either be dead or gone (or both) within the next few minutes anyway. I looked around the room and almost sighed aloud in disappointment when I saw someone sleeping in the room's single bed. I couldn't see anything but the top of their head, which was brownish and tousled, and their arms. I looked away and spotted a sad looking, sagging wicker chair. It was covered in someone's belongings: a pair of leather shoes, a old doctor's bag, and a worn-out looking suit. I looked in the bag and pulled out something that looked like an old potato sack. I looked at the person and sneered. It was _fucking _Scarecrow. That _fucking freak _had been trying to get a hold of me for weeks before I got arrested. He said he just wanted to "talk," which, in Scarecrow-speak, meant he wanted to sit me down in a comfy chair and pick my brain, ask me questions like "Can you remember anything about your childhood?" and "And how does that make feel?" He wasn't Dr. Phil. And even if he was I'd stab him anyway. Its my brain _god dammit_.

I stood up and looked into the kitchen. The walls were covered in that old floral, stripy wallpaper that had probably been put up in the mid 60s. The hanging lamp, linoleum flooring, and appliances weren't much better off. The shag carpet in the bedrooms looked like it had mange. Another wicker chair in the kitchen sagged in the corner next to a little umbrella holder and the door that probably led out into the hallway. From the bedroom I was in now, I could see through the bathroom's second door and into the adjoining bedroom. Two bed, one bath wasn't bad for a shit hole like this. The whole apartment smelled like coffee and beer tinged with old cigarettes and weed. Scarecrow rolled over in bed and someone in the kitchen sighed. I heard the sound of a beer bottle being drained. Of course I knew what that sounded like...

I twitched and shook my head.

_Daddy isn't here anymore, Jack. Not here. Daddy's dead and so is Ma. _

I pushed some hair out of my face and stuck my head in the kitchen. Someone was at the table, holding an empty beer bottle and breathing heavy into the crook of their arm, asleep maybe. I made my way through the room and had almost passed the second bedroom's door when I felt someone's eyes on me. My first instinct was to look behind me and see if Scarecrow was smiling at me, hoping for a talk session and holding a box of tissue. I think it was Scarecrow's goal in life to listen to me spill my guts and dissolve into a sobbing heap. The sadist. But it wasn't Scarecrow that was watching me, it was the person at the table.

"Hey," the person said.

It was a girl -- well more like a woman really, but that's not the point. She looked like she was in her early 20s and had bleach blonde, shaggy hair that hung just below her jaw line. Weird dark streaks were woven in with the blonde and a pair of tired gray eyes and dark circles looked at me out from her floppy bangs. She looked like she hadn't slept in a few days. I could relate. But I would never tell her that.

I pulled out one of my more menacing knives and said, "Scream and die, blondie."

Blondie sighed and stood up to throw her beer bottle away. She started making coffee.

"You want any?" she asked.

I let my arms drop.

"What?" I said in my most severe voice.

"Do you," Blondie said slowly, turning around to look at me, "want coffee?"

I threw my arms up and looked around the room. Maybe there would be a hidden camera somewhere and this was one of those TV shows where they catch the internet pedophiles. Hell, I didn't know.

"Is Jonny still in there?" Blondie asked. She sort of waved at the room I had come out of.

"Who?" I asked.

"Jonny," Blondie said. "Jonathan Crane."

"Scarecrow," I corrected. I had learned to never call Scarecrow "Jonathan" without his permission. He'd totally go ape-shit on you. "And yeah. The freak's still in there."

Blondie laughed and sat down again. She looked at my wrists where the cuffs still hung and said, "You want those off all the way?"

I looked at the cuffs. The psycho with the lock cutter had only cut the chain links, leaving the little bracelet things behind. I looked up at Blondie when she started going through a drawer full of keys. She walked around the table at me holding what I knew was a set of handcuff keys. She held out one of her long, pale hands and smiled at me like I was the friend of a friend: polite and close-lips, but a little unsure. I cocked my head to one side at her, and she lowered her hand. I giggled and held out my wrists. Blondie eyed me for a minute like she was probing my soul (my soul, that's a laugh) and started unlocking the cuffs. Once they were both off she just threw them away and put the keys back in the drawer she had found them in.

"So," Blondie said, "you want any coffee?"

I stared at this chick for what must have been a full minute before she looked away. I was, for the first time in a long time, confused. Didn't most people scream in terror when they saw a murdering, pyromaniac psychopath standing in their kitchen? That's what I had learned over the years. It's what I gotten used to. I mean come on, if_ I_ walked in to _my_ kitchen _I'_d freak _me_ out.

"Good morning, Jonny."

I stopped thinking and looked over at the door to Scarecrow's room. He was standing there pulling his jacket on and smiling at me. He didn't even look at the girl at the table.

"Joker," he said. "How nice to see you."

"Good _morning_ Jonny," Blondie said again.

Scarecrow tore his eyes off me long enough to look at the girl at the table and say, "Good morning, Freaky."

Blondie smiled and got up to start pouring coffee.

"Joker," Scarecrow said, pulling out a chair, "sit, won't you?"

I glowered at him and pulled up another chair for myself. Scarecrow gave me a hurt look and sat in the chair he had been offering me. Blondie turned around and held up the pot of coffee, asking _Want any? _without actually saying anything. I shrugged, and she started pouring me a mug full.

"Joker," Scarecrow said, "this is Freaky."

"Yes it is," I said.

Blondie laughed and handed me my coffee.

"No," Scarecrow frowned, "her name is Freaky-"

"I got that, 'Crow," I said, taking some sugar when Freaky offered.

"She's usually a bit more talkative than this," Scarecrow went on.

"I stay up so he can sleep and the cops don't come in an' arrest 'im," Freaky said, sitting down and laying her head against her arm. "I do it for everyone that comes in."

I nodded and drank some more coffee. Freaky's eyes closed and her breathing evened out. She was asleep in a few seconds. Scarecrow smiled at her and turned back to me. I just stared at Freaky and avoided eye contact.

"Freaky's been up for about 72 hours," Scarecrow said. "She's a little tired."

"So," I said, "what're you doing here, 'Crow?"

"Just taking a nap. I get a little tired. I was _evicted _from the apartment I was making my living in."

"Jimmy and his little cohorts found 'ya. _Didn't_ they?" I snickered.

Scarecrow glared at me like he was trying to drill holes in the side of my head with his eyes.

"If that's how you want to put it..." he said.

"That _is_ how I want to put it," I said. "So, before Commissioner Jimmy found you, how _was_ your little -uh- meth lab?" Scarecrow hated it when I called his little set up a meth lab. _Loathed it_.

"I'm not making methamphetamine," Scarecrow seethed. "I'm making Fear Toxin and you know that very well."

I chuckled into my coffee and watched Freaky sleep.

"So why'd you come _here_? For your _nap_?" I asked, looking Scarecrow full in the face. "Hoping for a little something besides sleep?"

He leaned back a little farther in his seat like any normal person would and said, "No. It's safe here. Freaky runs this whole floor along with her friend across the hall and the cab driver in the alley across the street. She calls it the Freaky Freeway. It makes sense really, with all the freaks she has coming through."

"Why is she called Freaky?" I asked.

Scarecrow shrugged and said, "It's her Freeway. It's like an Underground Railroad for criminals of... _our caliber_."

Scarecrow sure did like making himself feel important.

"If you ask her she'll let you spend a few nights here," Scarecrow said suddenly. "Or you can come with me. I have another spot set up already."

I stared at him.

_Should I? Should I really? I mean it's either that or risk it at this chick's place. I dunno..._

"You can stay as long as you need with me," Scarecrow said, "but Freaky will need to sleep eventually."

I popped my lips at Freaky -- who didn't notice because she was asleep -- and shrugged.

"Come now, Joker. I know you won't trust her as far as you can throw her-"

"I dunno. She looks pretty skinny, I bet I could throw her pretty far-"

"You might as well just come with me. The place I have set up is... doable. For now. We'll have to move, or, at least, you'll have to move. I know how you are."

"Do you now?"

I leaned towards him.

"You _know _me, huh? You know how I _do_ things? You know how I _work_? You think you_ know_ how I _tick_, _Scare_crow?"

Scarecrow cleared his throat and started to say, "I only meant-."

I looked at Freaky and cut him off before he could say anything else. Freaky was looking at me, then at Scarecrow. I think she was enjoying our little fight, but before I could say anything she tucked her head into her arm and fell asleep again with a little chuckle.

Scarecrow cleared his throat and stood up.

"You're not coming then?" he asked. I looked at him. "I'll take that as a no... in that case I'll be off. I have someone waiting..."

He scampered into the spare room, gathered the rest of his things.

"Oh, Joker," he said, turning to me through the open door, "if and when you leave, would you wake her up? She'll stay out here for the rest of the night and not get any sleep. And try not to kill her, if you can manage. She's a good person. We can trust her."

I stared at him until he said, "Yeah," and left.

"Freak," I grumbled.

"Hm?" Freaky looked up at me.

"I said freak, not freaky, Freaky," I told her.

"Oh," Freaky said. She sat up and stretched herself out, then stood up and offered to take my empty coffee cup.

"How do you live here?" I asked.

"Jonny gives me money sometimes to pay the rent and Pengy pretty much owns the place. He gets a lot of business from the crime rings that come through. I mention them to him."

"Pengy," I said. It was a question, sort of.

"The Penguin," Freaky said. "Oswald Cobblepot. He used to be a real richy-rich kid until he lost a whole bunch of money in the stock market. Now he lives here and helps me run the Freeway. He's got a thing for umbrellas."

I didn't know what to do with that last part, so I just nodded. "That's not what I meant."

Freaky laughed and leaned back against the sink to look at me. "Oh. You mean survive in an apartment where Gotham's finest mosey through... and threaten me with rape and murder-" she went back to washing cups "-and torture and drugs and Fear Toxin and mob hits and kidnapping..." She sat back down at looked at me. "I usually deal with the rape and murder and torture threats with this." She reached back into the drawer full of keys and pulled out a revolver. "I refer everyone else to Pengy. He usually deals with the money and drugs pretty well. He took to prostitution for a while. He said he quit-" she leaned forward "-but I still think he keeps up with some of the more popular pimps." She leaned back. "I've had some hookers through here. Usually they're for Bakin' or Pengy. Or they just hit the wrong floor and I send 'em downstairs."

"You know who lives downstairs, right?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," Freaky nodded. "That's Shawn and... Aw shit, what's his boyfriend's name? Ah, well, anyway. They're both sweet. Really horny and hot for each other, and more feminine than I am, but sweet." She paused to yawn and rub her eyes. "The horny part can make for some noisy nights though."

I chuckled. Freaky smiled at me and made me feel uncomfortable. I shut up pretty quick. Her eyes were too friendly for me. I looked around the room a little too distractedly and licked my lips.

"So," Freaky said, "you stayin' or goin'?"

I looked back at her and shrugged.

"You can use the spare room for as long as you need, or I can get Jed to find you a place to stay." I leaned back in my seat and licked at my scars.

"Okay," Freaky said. She stood up and walked to the door. "C'mon. I'll get you through."

She opened the door and waited for me to get up, patiently, quietly, smiling. She freaked me out a little. She was too friendly, too nice for me. I got up and followed her through the door and across the hall. She opened the door to the apartment across from hers and started wading through all the garbage on the floor. I heard snoring from one of the couches and looked at Freaky, but she didn't look too fazed. Instead she just smirked at me and hopped over a stack of records. She flipped the couch over and started shouting.

"BAKIN', GET UP! THEY'VE FOUND US BAKIN'! WE'VE GOTTA MOVE!"

I just stared at her. The thing that had been snoring sat up holding a joint and a shotgun.

"MUTHERFUCKIN' SHIT- FUCK! Me and Boomstick got 'em, Freaky! Me and Boomstick got 'em..."

The guy stuck the joint in his mouth and cocked his shotgun. Freaky laughed at him. The guy suddenly looked disappointed.

"Awwwwwww, Freaky. I hate it when you wake me up like that."

Freaky smiled at him and helped reset the couch. One of the cushions hit an old record player and some Rolling Stones started up. Someone was banging on the ceiling.

"You kids shut up! I'm tryin' to sleep up here! It's two in the God damned morning!" the banging person quacked.

Freaky hopped on the couch and started pounding on the ceiling, too.

"Shut up, Pengy! Go back to bed! I've got company!"

"It had better not be anyone I know!"

"Oh, you know him," Freaky said more to me and herself than anything.

She got off the couch and punched the guy she had been calling Bakin' so he would stop staring at me.

"Holy shit," Bakin' said.

"Shut up, Bakin'," Freaky said.

She punched him in the arm again and hopped over the same pile of records. Wading through more boxes of cassettes and CDs, Freaky finally made it to the opposite window and started opening it.

"Hey, Freaky?" Bakin' asked.

"Yeah?" Freaky said, looking back at him as she swung one of the huge window's panes open.

"Is Catwoman coming over this morning?" Bakin' was smiling.

Freaky sighed and slipped out the window. She motioned for me to follow, so I did. We walked down a few flights of stairs -- Freaky stumbled, mostly -- and finally hit the second floor, where Freaky kicked the ladder down. I felt the top of my head and winced. She hit the sidewalk and yawned, stretched her arms out as far as they would go and started across the street.

"See that cab? That's Jed's cab. He'll take you where you need to-" Freaky started. She stopped when a car came peeling down the street and almost hit her. The driver got out and started cussing at her in rapid Spanish. Freaky just cussed right back and shoved the guy. The guy suddenly backed off and started freaking out.

"So sorry, Freaky- miss. So, so sorry. I didn't mean it. So sorry," he said. He kept looking at me, but mostly he was looking at Freaky. He bumbled back into his Pinto and made a U-turn. Freaky kicked his trunk as he drove away.

"FUCKER!" she hollered after him. She turned to me and said, "Sorry about that."

I just laughed at her and followed her across the street. Freaky walked into an alley and nodded at a taxi that was sitting there. If the driver was in there, his seat was either leaned completely back, or he was in the back seat, because I couldn't see him. Freaky danced over to the cab and hopped on the hood. She started banging on the windshield. That's when I saw the driver. He sprang up from the driver's seat holding a revolver like Freaky's. He didn't fire though, instead he just shook his head at Freaky when she started laughing. Freaky hopped off the hood and told Jed to roll down the window.

"Hiya, Jed," she said.

"That's not funny," said Jed. He looked shaky and tired like her, but he at least looked alive. Freaky looked half-dead next to this guy: yellowish, pale, tired, wilted.

"I've got a customer for you, Jed," Freaky said.

Jed looked at me and paled. I looked out at the street and didn't listen to the rest of the conversation. The rabid looking dog that I had seen earlier was staring at me, looking bloody, like it had eaten one of the hissing cats in the dumpster. I didn't see the drunk guy. Out of the mock silence, though, I heard sirens. Freaky grabbed my shoulder, and I would have stabbed her if she hadn't been so quick to shove me behind a dumpster. Just then, a cop car squeaked to a stop in front of the alley.

"Problem, officer?" Freaky asked.

She was still leaning against Jed's cab. From where I was sitting, I could see right up her shirt. Ever seen Wonder Woman? That's kind of what Freaky looked like. Jed seemed to be enjoying the view as much as I was. He stopped looking as soon as Freaky glanced down at him.

"We're just checking around, ma'am," the cop said. "The Joker's escaped custody again."

"It's one guy," Freaky sighed. "You guys can't stay on him?"

The cop ignored her and said, "You might want to stay inside, ma'am. Lock your doors. Stay safe."

"You think I'm scared of that creeper?" Freak asked. That made me simmer a little. I'm not a creeper. "I've had scarier things crawl through my apartment."

_I didn't crawl. I walked. _

"You should probably report things like that, ma'am."

"I stopped trying months ago. You guys stopped coming over in May."

There was a long pause, and I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing. The cop pulled out a flashlight. I heard Freaky breathe in. I flattened myself against the side of the dumpster.

"Stay safe, ma'am."

The cop drove away. Freaky glared back it me, and I suddenly knew why Jed had stopped staring: those tired, gray eyes were a little intimidating, even if she had a Wonder Woman body. She went back to talking to Jed. She didn't lean against the cab door anymore. She turned back to me after a little while and pulled me to my feet.

"Jed's going to take you to a spot I have set up for people under heat," she said. "You can stay there as long as you need. If you need to come back, you can. Freeway's always open. I can get a hold of Scarecrow if you need anything-"

"What if I just kill you and your little cabbie friend and not have any liabilities?" I said.

I felt something poke me in the stomach. It was Freaky's gun. I hadn't even seen her take it with her.

"You'll have Pengy and all his connections, Scarecrow, Kitty, the cops, Bakin', and most of what's left of Sal Maroni's gang after ya'. How's that sound?"

I sucked on my cheeks and smiled at her. She twirled her gun around a few times and shoved it back in her pocket.

"Start it up, Jed." She turned around and opened the door for me.

"What if I don't wanna?" I asked.

Freaky shut the door and yawned. "Fine. Don't. I don't care. You do or you don't. The place I'm sending you is safe. Hey, you know what? I've got an idea." Freaky pushed away from the cab and rubbed her eyes. "If the cops even _knock _on your door you can come back here and kill me."

"What if I get arrested?"

"Christ knows it'll only take you a week and a half to get out of wherever the hell they'll send you: Arkham, county- you can get out of anywhere. You're the fucking Harry Houdini of prison cells."

"Oh, stop," I said, waving at her like I was embarrassed.

Freaky opened the cab door again, "Then get in."

I stared at her. Jed stared at the both of us.

I got in.

/|\

Jed's cab was a little stuffy, but I'd been in worse cabs. Once, I got in one that had been used to traffic meth, so the whole interior smelled like chemicals and piss. Jed's cab wasn't as bad. It just smelled like smoke and hookers. There were burn marks on the seats and walls, gashes in most of the upholstery and what looked like dried cum on the ceiling. Still not as bad as the meth cab. A piece of paper was taped to the separator window. I read down the list:

RULES:

-NO SMOKING WITH THE WINDOWS ROLLED UP

-NO JERKING OFF IN THE BACK SEAT (Someone had obviously disregarded that rule at some point)

-NO DRUGS

-DO NOT THREATEN DRIVER *I have enough to deal with*

-DO NOT THROW UP ON THE FLOOR

-NO SEX IN THE BACK SEAT

-NO HOOKERS

-NO GUN FIGHTS WITH OTHER CARS/CABS

-DON'T LEAVE YOUR SYRINGES IN THE BACK SEAT

I chuckled at a few of them.

"Like 'em?" Jed asked. "The rules."

"A few," I said.

"You'd be surprised at how many people've done some of that stuff. The jerking off one? Yeah, that shit really happened. I look back at this one guy I'm givin' a ride to and- ugh," Jed shuddered. "Didn't like what I saw. I've had hookers, too. No fun. They don't have any teeth most of the time and they all smell like asphalt. No fun, man. No fun."

I nodded. Jed was a funny guy.

"So, how'd ya' get away from the cops this time?" Jed looked back at me and smiled. It wasn't like Freaky's smile, it was sarcastic and knowing.

"Rigged a hotdog stand to blow," I admitted proudly. "Hot grease and chunks of cheap metal flying everywhere catches some attention."

"Nice," Jed laughed. "Freaky didn't give you a hard time, did she?"

I shrugged. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd really had a "hard time" with anyone.

"She's just tired," Jed sighed. "She does a lot for you guys." I blinked at him in the review mirror. "I mean- "you guys" like... as respectably as you can think, you know? I didn't mean anything by it." He sighed at himself and stopped at a red light. "Good job, Jed," he said to himself.

I saw cop cars across the street.

"I hate cops," Jed groaned. He looked back at me and said, "You might wanna..."

I was on the floor before he had even said anything. I smelled vomit.

_Great. _

Jed went with the light and turned a few times. Once we were a few blocks away he told me I could get up.

"We're here," he said. "Sorry about the puke. I cleaned it, I swear. It just smells like it now. Can never get the smell out."

I wrenched myself out from between the seats and shoved the door open. The cab was parked in front of probably the most rundown motel I had ever looked at: most -- if not all -- of the windows were boarded up, there was glass everywhere, there wasn't much left of the parking lot except gravel and the check-in office was empty.

"Nice place," I mumbled.

"Yeah," Jed said. "You just gotta watch out for the roaches, otherwise the place is clean. The water works, the electricity... eh, not so much. The doors are unlocked and this place has had so many calls for vandalism and soliciting that the cops don't even bother anymore." Jed looked back at me. "That means they won't bother _you_. I tested it a couple times: sat about a block away and called in that -- who was it? -- Scarecrow was out there. They never even showed up. I _promise_ no one's gonna find you. Freaky found this place last year and helped Scarecrow get settled. Now she uses the place to help criminals out. The mob uses it sometimes, but not usually. It's safe here, like Freaky said."

I looked at him and pulled myself out of the cab.

"And what if you call the cops on me?" I said, jangling some of the knives in my pocket.

Jed laughed. "I'm not stupid. You know what? I'll do the same deal as Freaky: If the cops knock on your door, you can come find me and kill me."

"Why not just kill you now?"

Jed shrugged. "I don't got anything to lose. Neither does Freaky or Bakin'. That's why we do it. We have fun with it. It's all for the adrenaline." He leaned towards me. "What if you do kill me? What if you kill Freaky? What if you kill Bakin'? Nothing. Nothing'll happen. Sure, Penguin won't have as much business; some of the gangs'll be pissed because they won't have anywhere to go through; Catwoman won't have anyone to talk to. Life'll go on. It's not so bad. So sure, if you want, kill me. I don't _wanna _die, I wouldn't _prefer_ it, but why not?"

I blinked at him and shut the door. Why waste my time on someone who doesn't even care? Who won't even put a dent in someone's day? He's just a cab driver. Who would care? It's no fun unless they're scared and screaming or begging for mercy.

Jed rolled away and flashed his lights at me. I watched him leave and looked back at all the motel rooms. I picked one and went inside.

/|\

**Thanks for reading the first chapter. It's a thought I've had in my head for a while. I came up with it at about the same time as I came up with Pleasant Conversation, my other story. With this story, however, I actually had a title picked out. **

**I know people don't usually read these little Author's Notes, but if you could, review, please. I LOVE the positive feedback. It makes my day.**

**Thanks again, **

**Jess**


	2. Boring

**Update, update, update. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own the Dark Knight. Would have kept a closer eye on Heath. Sigh. **

/|\

The next morning, after I had waded back to my apartment through the trash in Bakin's room, I woke up with three cats in my bed. The first one wandered in and curled up in the crook of my bent knees. The second one wandered in and stretched itself along my stomach. The third hopped on my pillow and tried to curl up around my head. I swatted it away and it shifted, but never left my pillow.

Sitting in the kitchen, unbeknownst to me, was Catwoman -or, Kitty, as I so affectionately called her. Kitty was one of my most frequent visitors, but she hadn't been the first. In fact, Jonny Crane had been the first. He had come in one night threatening me with with Fear Gas and asking if I wanted to see his mask. I offered him a beer ("You look like you need one, man."), and we kicked off our little partnership. Kitty had come later on, escaping the police after an unsuccessful robbery attempt. She had been looting a Tiffany's when the cops showed up. Apparently, the silent alarm had gone off.

Now, she was sitting in my kitchen, grinning cattily at her companions, who had made a very comfy bed out of me. Eventually, after being swatted in the nose one too many times by one of the cats' tails, I sneezed myself awake and pushed my hair out of my face. I peered around at the dispersing cats and finally found their leader, who was straddling one of my cheap, card-table chairs and giggling at me. I rubbed my eyes and almost fell out of my bed. The queen sized mattress was dented in the middle with age; a couple body-length pillows were thrown on either side (one was under my head, the other one had found its way onto the floor); the sheets were flannel and warm; and the duvet was cozy. All and all, I slept extremely well most nights.

Kitty giggled at me again and stroked one of her cats as it prowled along the floor.

"Good morning, Freaky," she purred.

"Hello, Kitty," I smiled, pushing more hair out of my face and stretching. "Why didn't you wake me up? I'd've made us coffee."

"You looked so cozy, though," Kitty grinned. "And Scarecrow told me you've been up a while. Besides, you know I never drink coffee."

I shrugged. "When'd ya see Jonny?"

"Last night," Kitty said. "We talked a little. Like normal people. He likes talking about you anyway. He said you've been up for three days. That you were like a zombie."

"Oh yeah?" I said. I started scooping coffee grinds into a filter and filling the coffee maker with water. "What else did he say?"

"He said you had a new customer."

I looked over my shoulder at her and started the coffee. The machine started to click a little as the water heated.

"I did," I said, leaning back against the counter and tugging at the collar of my sleep shirt.

Kitty's eyes lit up. "What was he like? What did he say? What's he really look like? Like, in person? Up close?"

I smiled tiredly at her and stopped tugging at my shirt.

"He looked like he does in the paper, on the news. And he was argumentative as hell. Wouldn't agree to anything." I stopped and pressed my lips together, thinking of something positive to say that would make Kitty smile or laugh. "He scares Jonny," I finally said.

"Does he?" Kitty said, smiling hugely.

I nodded and sat down across from her, closer to the counter. The coffee machine clicked away behind me and started dribbling coffee. For a little while, I let Kitty talk about her latest thievery, her cats, Batman - who she secretly lusted after, but never told anyone - and his attempts to thwart her, and the normal chitter chatter that came along with most of her visits. I listened and nodded, interrupting the conversation only to get myself some coffee. I asked Kitty if she wanted anything, but she said she didn't. After about half an hour, maybe a quarter more, she pranced out the door, waving at me with her diamond-clawed hands and calling for her cats. I finished my coffee and listened for the slapping sound that came with all of Kitty's visits- the sound of Kitty slapping Bakin' because he tried to hug her or touch her or something. When the slapping came, I just smirk and put my cup in the sink. I looked at all the cups there- the ones from last night. One of them had smudges of red along the rim. I smirked again and stretched myself out as I walked to the bathroom. I needed a shower.

After washing away three day's worth of dead skin and God know what else, I scrubbed myself dry with one of my roughest towels and got dressed in something comfy. Then, I did what I did on most days: nothing. House chores, dishes, laundry. Boring. So, depressingly, desperately, boring. Sitting in the basement, reading a Stephen King paperback and glancing up at my laundry as it wished and washed around in the washing machine, I wondered what a day with Joker would be like. With Jonny or Kitty. What would that be like?

"Fun as hell, that's what'd be like," I sighed to myself.

I went back to reading _Carrie _and sighed again. So, so bored.

/|\

I slept for most of the day after that and woke up at 10:30 that night. The sour, stinging smell of weed wafted from across the hall. I groaned and rolled out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts as I left the room. I poked my head out into the hallway.

"Bakin'!" I shouted. "Open a fuckin' window or something! You're stinkin' up the joint!"

"Sorry," came Bakin's faint, slurred reply.

I closed my door and went into the spare room to open the window a bit more. I shoved some hair out of my face as I started some coffee. Then, I sat at my table and sighed at the ceiling.

_I wish Joker would come by and visit again. He's such an asshole. I bet he's a helluva a lot of fun to argue with._

I heard some Pink Floyd from Bakin's room, some laughter. Jed must have been in there with him, getting totally blazed and being happy about the way the dust motes bobbed in the slanted light that came from the windows, or something. I reached back into my junk drawer, which was very close to my key and gun drawer, and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. I lit one and took a long drag from it. I was still in a sour mood from yesterday, sitting in the apartment's basement laundry room, reading a paperback Stephen King novel and being bored with my life. It was my own fault, really. I could go out and do stuff, but I just never felt like it. Besides, I had a job to do, right? Right.

I took another drag form my cigarette, got up, turned the radio on, and sat back down again. That would be just about as much moving as I would do for the next 8 hours. Anything after that was me getting up to get something to eat or drink.

"What a sad existence I lead," I sighed to myself at one point, breathing out a pillar of smoke as I stared at the ceiling. The news came on the radio just then.

"After another 24 hours of restless searching, Gotham police officials have yet to recapture the psychotic criminal, the Joker," the reporter droned.

"Pfft," I said, turning to face the radio. "Big surprise. Big fucking whoop."

"The Joker eluded police custody - once again - yesterday afternoon after a nearby hotdog stand exploded, killing the stand's owner and injuring several bystanders..."

"Fuck," I sighed, running one hand through my hair and taking a drag from my cig from the other. "A fucking hotdog stand."

The reporter went on for a while longer about how "extremely dangerous" Joker was.

"Once again, ladies and gentlemen, lock your doors, stay safe; good evening. And now to the weather with Ollie-"

"Don't care," I groaned, stabbing at a few buttons until the station changed. Some song from the City of Angels soundtrack was on. I had that CD somewhere.

I crushed out my cigarette and got up to get something to eat. I almost shouted at Bakin' when the weed fumes started leaking into the kitchen, but decided I'd enjoy the little contact high while it was there. I didn't have anything else to do, why not chill out and get happy?

/|\

I woke up with a sore neck about 5 hours later. I had dozed off at some point, and I didn't even know what time it was until I noticed the large black splotch in my fuzzy vision. I kneaded at my eyes with the heels of my hands and blinked hard.

"Freaky," said the black splotch in an extremely gravely voice. I wondered for a moment if the splotch was a heavy smoker, then I realized it was Batman.

"Sun's almost up, Batsy," I mumbled. "What're you doing up this early? Or, late, depending on... you know... whatever kind of clock you guys go by."

I laid my chin back down on the table and looked up at him. "So what's up, guy?"

"The Joker's been through here, hasn't he?" Batman grumbled.

My breath hissed in between my teeth when I breathed in. "You missed 'im by about a day, Batsy, sorry."

"Why didn't you call anyone? Gordon? The police?" Batman grated. His voice was unpleasant against my barely-awake ears.

"Why don't I call someone when you come through, Batty?" I asked, sitting up and letting my arms hang behind the chair.

Batman grumbled and swept out of the kitchen. _Ruffle-ruffle-ruffle _went his cape. It almost got caught in the door when he slammed it, heading across the hall to Bakin's apartment. I heard some mildly disgruntled _Heeeey_'s when Batman stepped on some smoking joints on the floor in Bakin's living room. I chuckled.

Bakin's apartment was completely different than mine: he actually had a living room; it was sunken into the floor and had a conjoined kitchen with a little breakfast bar (that Bakin' almost never used). The floor - in all the rooms - was covered in garbage: wrappers, record covers, CD cases, cassette boxes, boxes of junk, magazines, paper that Bakin' used to roll his weed in. Things like that. The whole back wall was a giant window that gave Bakin' a wonderful view of whatever the local street gangs were up to during the day. At night, it served as the exit for the Freeway. Bakin's bedroom -another thing he hardly ever used- was simply a little dent opposite the kitchen, keeping the whole apartment wonderfully symmetrical. Yet so messy. My apartment was much smaller, but I liked it that way.

I groped for my coffee cup and knocked it over. It was empty, and I stared at its gaping white insides with some disappointment. I decided it was time for bed, so I put the cup in the sink and shuffled into my room, pulling off my shirt and kicking out of my pants. I didn't bother putting on a night shirt, so I pulled up the sheets around my mostly naked self and cuddled desperately against one of the body-length pillows on my bed, hoping Batty wouldn't swoop back in to ask for directions or something.

/|\

**Hey, guys. Most of this chapter was written while I was in a sleep deprived stupor, so pardon any irregularities. Not all the chapters are this boring, I promise. This one's just to emphasize the boring. Poor, bored Freaky. **

**Thanks. R&R if you want. **

**-Jess **

**PS: Say no to drugs (even if they get you 'happy').**


	3. Macaroni

**Disclaimer (why do we do these again?): I don't own The Dark Knight or its characters, only my own. **

/|\

What must have been a week passed by without much notice; the days melted together. I slept when I wanted to, talked to Bakin' when I wanted to. Most of the days were spent slumped in one of the chairs in the kitchen, smoking a little and listening to the radio. I read too much and ate too little as I always did when there was no one around to feed besides myself. I took the contact highs when they wafted across the hall. I talked to myself and the radio, worrying a little that I might be losing my mind. I let it go.

I wasn't crazy. Just bored.

All at once it was Monday morning, and I was asleep at the table, head cradled in the bend of my arm. Someone on the radio was chirping about how wonderful the weather was going to be today.

"Partly cloudy and breezy today, folks. Perfect weather for a walk in the park! Hahaha!"

I pried myself from the table and reached back to turn the radio off. Instead, it just changed to another station. I groaned and got up to unplug it. The music stopped, and I sat back down at the table. I heard the window creak in the spare room. I sat up and smiled.

In stumbled a very well dressed, muscle bound man. He must have had a hard time getting through the window.

I blinked at him and said, "Hey."

The man sniffed at me and sneered.

"Mr. Maroni would like to speak with you," he growled. His voice was just as grating on my ears as Batman's.

"Macaroni?" I grinned. The man sneered. "How's he been? I heard about that wreck with Dent-"

"Mr. Maroni is recovering considerably well," the man said. "He says he needs to speak with you and another contact."

"Prob'ly Pengy," I sighed, getting up and rubbing my aching neck.

There was a grunt from the spare room, a clank of metal against metal. I opened the refrigerator and stared blankly at its contents. I wasn't overjoyed about Maroni's visit. He had never been very pleasant unless Pengy was around, and even then he managed to be severely sarcastic. In business terms, however, he was an animal. He knew what he wanted, what he needed, and how to get it. I retracted from the fridge and smirked at Maroni as he hobbled into the room. He didn't look too intimidating now.

"Macaroni," I grinned, shutting the fridge and leaning back against it.

Maroni sneered at me. A think scar ran across his jaw now, no doubt a mark made by glass and metal that used to be his car before Harvey Two-Face sent into rolling down the road. His nose was broken, his eyes blackened and bloodshot. He wore a brace on one leg and held crutches.

"Ever thought of using the elevator?" I asked, cocking my head to one side in mock concern.

"Very funny," Maroni slurred in a thick, nasally voice.

"Please," I said, holding back laughter, "have a seat. Want anything to drink?"

"No," Maroni growled.

One of his men pulled out a chair for him to sit. I stood at the refrigerator, smiling as Maroni winced his way into the chair.

"Seen Chechen lately? Haven't heard from him in a while," I asked. The Chechen was one of the only mob bosses in Gotham I got along with. His absence worried me.

"He's underground," Maroni sighed, "having surgery. Joker did a number on 'im, just like Gambol."

"Gambol was an asshole and you know it Mac," I said. "I actually liked Chechen. He's a funny guy."

There was a long pause. No one moved. I smirked and leaned against the refrigerator, Maroni grunted in his seat. Maroni's man stood with hands clasped.

I felt the question coming, as I had with Batman, and my smirk deepened when it came.

"Joker came through, didn't 'e?" Maroni asked.

I laughed stupidly at him and nodded. "Last week I think. Hasn't been back through since."

"I want him."

"I didn't know you swung on that side of the fence, Macaroni."

"Shut up."

I held my hands up in defense.

"I kid, Mac, I kid. Oy vey. Relax. I know you want 'im. I dunno where he is-"

"Did you send 'im to the motel?"

"I did."

"Where would he be now?" Maroni sounded excited now.

I shook my head at him. "I don't know, Mac. I loaded him up with Jed and sent him on his way. I don't follow them, and I wasn't about to ask, now was I?"

"You know something, Freaky, now tell me."

I blinked at him. I was tired. I didn't feel like dealing with his shit tonight.

"You need to talk to Penguin?" I asked.

There was a long angry pause on Maroni's part.

"Fine," he growled.

He got up shakily from his chair and hobbled to the door.

"Even if you did know where he was, you wouldn't tell me, would you?" he asked from the door.

I shook my head at him. He left. I flipped him the bird and propped my bare feet up on the table.

/|\

My newest group of freaks was driving me up a fucking wall. Two of them were paranoid schizophrenics that spent most of their time talking to themselves more than each other. Another had a personality disorder. One was a manic depressive who was always droning on about how she wanted to kill herself. I told her she might as well, considering she talked about ti so much. We found her in the bathroom a few days later. She had cut her wrists wide open. A few of the others were psychotics. The majority were escaped prison inmates. And they were driving me up a wall.

I couldn't sleep at night because they stayed up and yelled at each other until dawn. The schizos sat in the corners of the rooms with their hands over theirs ears, screaming about the voices. I kind of got the hint after a while that there were some prison-shower stunts being pulled when I wasn't around. Ugh.

On a few occasions, I caught myself thinking about how quiet it had been at that girl's apartment. What was her name again? Weirdo? Psycho? Freaky? Freaky! That's it. And she was a little freaky, wasn't she?

So, so quiet.

One day, after an extremely long and noisy night, I decided I was sick of this bunch of goons. I decided to get rid of them. As I looked at each of them as they sat on the floor, some of them playing cards, some of them mumbling to each other, to themselves. I tinkered with some ideas, letting my tongue wander around the inside of my cheeks.

I'd send the schizo twins off to Wayne Enterprises and see how long it takes for them to get arrested. I'd rile them up first. Yeah. Get them going on some kind of trip. Ooooooh! Maybe I could get a hold of some acid! Ooooooh, that would be fun. Send them in screaming about bats and voices and streaming colors and shit like that.

I could send the psychotics to the mall and see how long it takes for the rent-a-cops to catch them. Then the real cops. They'd probably have to bring in the big guns at some point. I think I'd stick around for that. Watch from afar like some high school kid with a crush.

Eh. I'd figure out what to do with the cons later.

First, the schizos. I called 'Crow and asked if he had any connections. Of course he did.

"What for, if I may so bold as to ask?" he said in his professional, psychotherapist voice.

"I'm bored," I said.

He sighed, gave me a name and an alley, and hung up. I gave the info to one of my inmates and sent him off. He came back an hour later with the stuff.

"Thanks," I said, and stabbed him in the throat. "Clean that up, wouldja?" I told the others.

The place we were staying at, funnily enough, was Gambol's old bar. I figured after all I did for him I deserved to take up his place and keep it nice. It wasn't working out well: the place was a wreck with all the trash, broken bottles and... people problems. I kept myself upstairs most of the time. There was - or used to be - an inn up there. No one rented much anymore. Ha. Ha.

_Hahahahahahaha-hehe-hahahaha_

/|\

**Thanks for reading (maybe, unless you just scrolled to the bottom of the screen). R&R. Next chapter to come out soon... hopefully. **

**-Jess**


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